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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692476">Crown Island</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polishedscales/pseuds/Polishedscales'>Polishedscales</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>And Then There Were None (TV 2015)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Murder, Mutilation, Rape, Reader Insert, Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:36:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polishedscales/pseuds/Polishedscales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Captured by the crown officials, you are bound aboard a ship sailing to the infamous Crown Island. Between plotting your escape and enduring the mistreatment of the captains, an admirer waits at bay.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Phillip Lombard/Reader, Reader/Phillip Lombard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Capture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the beginning of a long journey. For the sake of avoiding eventual copyright, I've changed Phillip Lombard's name to Lombard Keller. No other characters will be placed into the story. I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>West Argenia reeked of rotten wood and peeled fish. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>In passing from harbour, city, and to the countrysides, vocals from the island’s inhabitants are your version of white noise. It isn’t until now, sour binds digging into your wrists, that the sound makes your head pulse. In this situation there is no freedom to add a cacophony of your running footsteps, nor the sounds of a material’s strength reacting to your grip. Instead, you stand tired, eyes peering behind your muddied scowl. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ship docked waves ago, and by captain’s logs you were the only fugitive captured. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once docked, you, and the cargo (that of ale barrels, food, and pieces of weaponry) were transported to the docks. Those materials went elsewhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You, on the other hand, are waiting for the next crewmen to arrive. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The officer in charge of you spits a wad onto the deck near your feet, smirking when you try to step away from it. Fortunately, the tide bubbles through the cracks and disposes of it like a charity case. The man’s boots squeak. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Glad to be rid of ye’,” he scowls, spitting again. “For a thief, let’s now hope yer’ next voyage won’t be too kind to ye’.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You sigh and roll your eyes. “You won’t keep me for long now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your odds of escape are slim. Seafarers of all sizes have kept you in their imprisonment. Them not being official to The Crown gave them leeway to release you based upon your bribe size, but it is known that barters with officials seldom have you in good health and in fair currency all the same.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You turn your head when the seagulls flock to the beams, pecking at the new group of men that have arrived. You assume that they will be the ones boarding the ship, the crewmen are at their heel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lookie’ here now,” the officer says, pushing off against the beam he had been laying against. He walks towards you and grabs you by the middle of your binds, tugging you hard towards the gate that they had settled in front of. He starts to whisper, “All these men you see now? They be findin’ ye’ quite the treat, Clam. I wouldn’t try escaping.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You count 3 officials, their names revealed to you quicker than you had expected to learn them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From left to right, you categorized them now:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Captain Swin- aka Pig. It was likely that he had been waiting for months to voyage. His smell choked your personal bubble. His rags for clothes were soiled, his pepper hair knotted, and suspicious spots claimed the coat he wore. You see splatters of blood soaked into his trousers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Captain Blayjek. Average height and grey, sea strung hair. A few fingers were missing and a tattoo covers half of his neck and face. His voice is tunneled, his laugh permanent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And, accompanying Blayjek, was a younger man named Keller. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Keller kept up in appearance, facial hair shaved spite the dark 5 o’ clock shadow reforming. His worn shirt was buttoned. His straps went over each shoulder. And, unlike the others, his short, jet black hair laid in perfect form. A few clusters of strands fell separately across his face, almost merging with his dark eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Keller watches you approach, gaze flitting from your boots, to your wardrobe, and finally to your eyes, no longer bothering in putting his cents into the conversation. The two men beside him phase out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Keller greets your officer immediately. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t realize we’d be having extra passengers aboard,” Keller announces, grabbing the attention of his comrades.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Passenger, Keller? This is a rat if I’ve ever seen one. What’s its charge?” Pig ironically snorts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A rat is a rat,” Blayjek counters, “Make it squeal and it’ll talk.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Keller’s companions laugh in unison. Keller remains silent and keeps his eyes on you. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re to take her to your next docking. She’s expected to arrive unharmed so that the jailers may evaluate and sentence her for her crimes. No touching on this one.” The officer raises a chain connected to your binds towards the captains, but they shrug the offer off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tie her up to this post by the boardwalk,” Blayjek commands. “We’ll grab the rat when all items and crewmen are aboard and ready to sail.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>-------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s midnight when the captains return.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your stomach turns. You haven’t been fed since the first break of light, and though the last seafarer was fair you don’t expect to be treated as well. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blayjek and Pig are stumbling drunk, Keller grabbing the two men by each other's shoulders to keep them upright. He ushers them to climb aboard, insinuating that he’d be the one to transport you into the holding, but Pig refuses. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“N’I’ll be the one to do it,” he mutters, laughing and pushing the men forward. Keller stops in his tracks when Pig approaches you. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Time to go, rat.” He removes your lock on the post and yanks you forward, almost getting you to fall face first into the planks. Keller starts to move once Pig comes closer, keeping an eye on the both of you as he guides Blayjek onto the main deck.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, handsome, she’s in good hands,” Pig yanks you forward again, but this time it’s a length beyond the distance between your new captor. It goes past him and he lets go of the guide,  resulting in you tumbling beyond the men and breakingly onto your side. Copper taints your mouth and your blood drool shimmers as it drips down your chin. You inspect your mouth and note that no teeth were damaged, but a chunk from the inside of your cheek pulses. It’s enough to make you growl.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not so good on your feet, are ye’ rat?” Pig mocks, jumping onto the main deck after you. His boots splatter muck onto your face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, now, Swin, that’s enough,” Blayjek coos. “Remember, alive and well.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A crewhand walks forward and picks up the guide to your binds. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Put her in the spare chambers,” Blayjek commands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The crewhand nods, pulling you to your feet and dragging you to the right. The ship was no small feat. Wood here, steel there. Your eyes flitted from the sea below to the crewhand in front of you. You could hear the sounds of people below the deck, fitting the supplies into place before the journey. You could also hear the passengers in the rooms, some laughing, some engaging in other activities that made your face heat up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you taking me?” You snip. You pull your arms up and tug on the chain, testing the man’s patience but not willing to attempt to escape.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To the belly of the ship,” He snips back. “Don’t ask another question.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You huff and keep your mouth shut. He leads you into a door that appears mid-way on your trek, interrupting a couple that is snogging in the red carpeted hallway. They gasp when they see you, the woman gripping the man’s tux to add to that dramatic damsel lure. Her shoulders bunch up the fur scarf on her neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, you’re self conscious, but the feeling evaporates when you’re led down two flights of stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, there is no rush. He lets you take your time and for a moment your mind wanders to the thought of the black haired man, Keller. You’d be a fool to believe that there was some good in him, but mayhaps you are right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Then what? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You ask yourself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Would I be sly enough to convince him to set me free before my judgment before the courts?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Here we are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The behind-the-scenes luxuries were kept hidden down in your new home. Crates that one man could not move were placed together, some even adorning antiqued candleholders with the columns of wax still in place. On them, and around the hull, spiderwebs, dust, and the details of aged, forgotten places set the mood. By far, this would be the fanciest place you have been cooped up yet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A single pipe rose from the floor to the ceiling. There, you would be secured.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You will be held here for whatever crimes you are being tried for. You will get breakfast and dinner. The state that you are in now is unacceptable for our standards here upon the ship. A bowl of water will be brought to you within a day’s time, including that of a sponge and soap. Whoever is to watch you will remove the binds on your wrists and turn around while you clean yourself. Therefore, if you attempt to escape they have permission to shoot,” The man pulls out a rag from his pocket and places it in front of you on the ground. “If I were you, I wouldn’t try. There’s nowhere to go from here. I pity you, but I will not be in your place.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he leaves he applies an extender to your chain. It gives you access to a chamber pot, damaged curtains, and aids in more leg room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>You slide to the floor and finger the rag. You open it to see rations of food. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Cheese, bread, and… what’s this?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You pick up the third contestant and bring it to your nose, taking a whiff. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brown, and slimy, you identify the thing as rotting meat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder what kitchen they found  this in? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You stare at it for a moment and bring it to your lips, chewing and swallowing it. No hair, no dirt-- just </span>
  <em>
    <span>old</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You finish the cheese and bread next. Your next plan? Daydreaming of escape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man was right; you were not going to escape while the ship was in motion. Your chance of survival would be less than 50% and you were not sure where the ship was actually headed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You stretch your legs and hobble over to the curtains, pulling them into a bundle that would work for cushioning. On your knees now, you curl up on your side. Sleep and you’ll be woken to another day, but first, you spit on your hands and rub your face clear of the debris. Your hair was not worth messing with. You pull your hands up to your chest and listen to the waves crash outside. The monotony is enough that it lulls you to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the edge of your dreams, you hear a pop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <span>Are you in there? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The voice asks.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hello, Mr. Keller</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The ship’s horn blows and just like that the crewman who had helped you yesterday is there at your feet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Breakfast,” he grumbles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You rub your eyes. “This can’t be the worst job, now can it?” You rise up from the floor and sit crossed legged, wiping a string of drool from the corner of your mouth. Your limbs crack in protest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well if I’m taking care of you, who’s sweeping up lost, drunken damsels?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Certainly not you with that attitude.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This so-called man was nothing more than a boy sticking his hand in the cookie jar when no one would look. His face turns sour at your accusation. He moves out his foot and kicks the bowl of stew at your side. The force wasn’t enough to topple it all over, but enough splattered out, pooling in palm sized circles. Consequently your new bread and cheese is squashed beneath his boot when he regains his footing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have questions,” You say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leave it for the captains of the ship,” He turns to head away, reaching the door when you press for more words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Three then, sir?” The title of power you bestow upon him makes him stop in his tracks. “When will my bathwater be available and where are we going?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This sir’s name is Port. Your bathwater will be here when it gets here,” He preens himself and runs a hand through his hair. “We’re set further westward, 7 moon’s time to hit the crown island... What’s your last question?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You push your tongue up against the upper inside of your lip. “Have you hea--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door swings open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Out you go, boy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“But sir,” Port stumbles, reaching towards the man to grab his things. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Out. It’s bad enough I’m having to do this myself while you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissing </span>
  </em>
  <span>your time away blabbering. Blayjek is miserable and needs to be tended to. You have today cut out for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Port pushes his lips together and shoots his head back towards you, huffing and storming off out of the door. He grabs the handle and slams it behind him, leaving you and the familiar face to the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hanging out of the corner of his mouth is a cigarette. In one hand he holds a bowl-- larger than you had expected-- and in the other he has soap. A rag, sponge, and hairbrush manage to stay between his fingers. There’s a pouch at his side. “Your bathwater.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One by one he places them down in front of you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Complaints?” He asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your food. It’s smashed. I may be a bastard but I can smell mistreatment when I see it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a little quarrel.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He isn’t satisfied with your answer, but he doesn’t beg for more. He squats down and focuses on unlocking the binds, inserting the key in swift motions on both locks. The metal clinks to the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you run I’ll have to shoot you,” he says. You share a moment looking into each other’s eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Understood.” you reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s wearing the same clothing as last night-- an indication that his sleep did not come easy. He moves to his feet and turns around, clearing his throat and playing with the cuff of his sleeve. His eyes roll around the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You feel uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You remove your boots and start there, rubbing the sores on your feet. You catch him turning his head to peek, but the dark orbs on white shift back to get you out of view when you look up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of your toes pop. “Must you stand here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s either I or Port. I’ll leave you to that decision,” he sighs. He takes a drag of his cigarette and leans his head back, puffing a stream into the air. He lets the remainder snake through his nostrils. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fruitless, you take your trousers off. By the time you’re fully naked, you shiver. You dip the sponge in the water and add the soap, starting from top to bottom. The water trickles down your chest and to the dip between your legs, aggravatingly keeping some areas dry for you to wash over again. You scrub harder and trust that Keller will not turn around at this point. The dirt, mud, and grime wash down onto the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you really here?” He asks, slipping the strap of his pouch over his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have no grounds to, but you could.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I did.” You take the comb and freshen your hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keller scoffs and puts his hand out behind him, pouch in hand. “Spare clothes I have. I figured you might like to feel less revolting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You don’t outright take it. “Is this what you do to all imprisoned women you meet? Let them wear your clothes to give you a chub?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sounds irritated this time. “I can always offer them to someone more deserving if that’s what you wish?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The message was clear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without another word you take the pouch. To your surprise the clothes are clean and folded neatly. Inside is a duplicate of the shirt he is wearing now. The other articles of clothing are no longer fit to his size. You give yourself another washover before you put the clothes on. Their freshness makes you sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keller turns around to face you. No emotion is readable on his face. “I’m having a difficult time believing you’re worth anything to an official.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Worthless now, am I? You sure are a gentleman.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you understand what I’m truly saying. Tell me of your crimes. Surely you couldn’t have done something that deserves more than a slap on the wrist.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Question me and you’ll end up down the same path as I have. Truth be told you’re better off doing rounds fucking whores with your friends. The marks on your neck tell me all I need to know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You toss the pouch to him and he catches it, slinging it back over his shoulder. He plucks the keys out of his deep pockets and rechains you, rougher than how it all had begun. You can see now that the marks on his neck traveled down his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see about having Port get you more food. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unsquashed.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keller takes the washware he had given you and leaves. He secures the door behind him. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
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